But nothing came—that is, nothing in the nature of what Burke had expected. John Denby, after Benton had left the veranda, turned to his son with a pleasantly casual—
"Oh, Brett was saying to-day that the K. & O. people had granted us an extension of time on that bridge contract."
"Er—yes," plunged in Burke warmly. And with the words, every taut nerve and muscle in his body relaxed as if cut in twain.
It came later, though, when he had ceased to look for it. It came just as he was thinking of saying good-night.
"It has occurred to me, son," broached John Denby, after a short pause, "that Helen may be tired and in sore need of a rest."
Burke caught his breath, and held it a moment suspended. When before had his father mentioned Helen, save to speak of her casually in connection with the baby?
"Er—er—y-yes, very likely," he stammered, a sudden vision coming to him of Helen as he had seen her on the floor in the midst of the inky chaos a short time before.
"You're not the only one that isn't finding the present state of affairs a—a bed of roses, Burke," said John Denby then.
"Er—ah—n-no," muttered the amazed husband. In his ears now rang Helen's—"Maybe you think I ain't tired of working and pinching and slaving!" Involuntarily he shivered and glanced at his father—dad could not, of course, have heard!
"I have a plan to propose," announced John Denby quietly, after a moment's silence. "As I said, I think Helen needs a rest—and a change. I've seen quite a little of her since the baby came, you know, and I've noticed—many things. I will send her a check for ten thousand dollars to-morrow if she will take the baby and go away for a time—say, to her old home for a visit. But there is one other condition," he continued, lifting a quick hand to silence Burke's excited interruption. "I need a rest and change myself. I should like to go to Alaska again; and I'd like to have you go with me. Will you go?"